


What Stars Leave Behind

by providentialeyes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grinding, HOW DO I MAKE THAT A REAL TAG Y'ALL?, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Modern Ranch AU, Other, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Under Duress, Vaginal Fingering, discussion of public masturbation, discussions of consent, no actual voyeurism in this, non-binary john marston, past mary/arthur, vdl ranch, voyeurism kink, well boxers but w/e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21912754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: "That's not… I mean no one, cause-" Arthur sighs and tilts his head back against the headboard of the bed, "Cause I'll help you."“... Really?” John whispers after a moment of frantically studying the older man.“You gotta explain, though,” Arthur murmurs, staring at the ceiling.The specks of blue-tack leftover from the glow-in-the-dark stars John had stuck to his ceiling when they were younger.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 97





	What Stars Leave Behind

**Author's Note:**

> clit and hole are used for john, there's a mention of john being infertile 
> 
> little background, this is a modern VDL ranch au where john was brought to the ranch on a juvi contract that expired on his 18th 
> 
> the first scene is john acting under the idea that he can convince arthur to help him stay at the ranch through sex, there is a later more no dub-con scene between them 
> 
> uggggggggggggggggg i think that's it

The tentative touch on the crook of his hip and thigh is what wakes Arthur.

He mumbles something, half-awake, fancies that he asked 'What?' or 'Huh?' or something more intelligible than garbled syllables.

The touch settles a little firmer, fingers moving up to his waistband. 

"Mary?" Arthur murmurs, rubbing his eyes, but Mary's never woken him up like this.

The wandering touch falters, leaving him for a few moments then returning back to the original, feather-light testing. 

"Ain't Mary."

Arthur feels his face scrunch up and opens his eyes, lifting up slightly to see John kneeling next to him on the older man's bed.

"John?" Arthur asks scratchily then powers through a yawn, "Y'okay?"

The fingers skirting between waistband and stomach gradually warm, and Arthur's brain connects the voice, face, and touch.

"Wh-?" Arthur sits up a little faster, squinting at the barely visible lines of the younger, "What are you…?"

"Can I?" John asks quietly, the fingers move inwards, following the line thigh and torso. 

"... Can you _what?"_ Arthur asks hoarsely. 

John's fingers move in idle patterns for a moment.

"What do you want?" John asks, "If- If you…"

Arthur frowns sleepily at the younger and reaches his hand up to comb through John's hair, pushing the strands out of the younger's face.

He says something with that movement he didn't intend to.

He hears John's slightly shaky inhale then the younger lowers his head, giving up under the weight of Arthur's hand.

And presses his mouth, lips parted, breath hot and damp, to Arthur's cock through the thin fabric.

"Woah-” Arthur gasps and reflexively tightens his grip on John's hair, emotions encouraging him to push the younger away, physical stimulation begging the warmth to continue, grow, move closer, encompass more of his length.

John tilts his head as much as he can in Arthur's unconscious throttling of his hair, mouths up the shaft until he finds the tip through the fabric, pressing his tongue to the smooth cotton-blend and letting his spit soak through.

"Jesus," Arthur mutters, making a half-choked groaning sound.

John takes it as encouragement, anything that doesn't involve Arthur pushing him away, at this point, is encouragement.

He sucks on Arthur's cock through the material then slowly slips the buttons free and pulls out Arthur's cock. 

Arthur shifts slightly under him and it registers as hesitation in John's mind.

He feels his heartrate pick up and quickly eases Arthur's cock into his mouth.

The angle is uncomfortable, he's only ever done this on his knees, and being hunched over seems to make everything more difficult.

Arthur's big, too, bigger than anyone John's ever messed around with.

Certainly bigger than his fingers and what his clumsy prep has readied him for, if it takes that much to convince Arthur to keep him. 

John whimpers slightly at the thought and Arthur grunts, cock flexing in John's mouth, nearly startling him into gagging. 

He eases off, angles, eases on, angles…

Arthur's fingers are buried deep in his hair and he's not sure when he should pull back 

He can breathe well enough, he just isn't sure how long he needs to-

John swallows reflexively and Arthur moans softly, patting over John's hair shakily. 

"Fuck, Johnny," Arthur murmurs, "Feels good, darlin'."

John hates that his heart jackhammers for a different reason, just then. 

Not just the anxiety over Arthur denying him, turning him away, dooming him. 

But the convoluted crush that he's harbored on the older man for years and Jesus Christ he has the man's cock halfway down his throat his cheeks shouldn't be heating over a _dumb_ pet name that Arthur'd probably never use unless John was doing exactly this. 

He feels his eyes burning and closes them tightly, tugging on Arthur's hip, trying to get the older man to just take over and use him, make him feel like a good hole and nothing more cause that's all he can offer Arthur.

In the exchange that the older man helps him, keeps him, doesn't make John go back. 

A little half-hitched sob racks his chest and he tries to stifle it, closing his eyes tighter as tears leak out and he bobs his head, using his tongue, running teasing fingers over Arthur's balls through the cloth. 

Arthur shifts under him and John hates everything in the moment. 

Hates that he had read Arthur's body language without even seeing.

"John?" Arthur asks hoarsely.

John has to pull off, finally, when his options feel like choking and gagging through his sobs or being able to breathe.

"Sorry," John says quickly and his chest hitches with a frantic breath as he sits up, moving to straddle Arthur's lap grabbing the older man's hand and squeezing it before guiding it between his thighs to his artificially wet hole, "You can- You can, if you…"

It seems like all he hears is Arthur's breathing for a few minutes, and he's sure he's not breathing himself. 

Then Arthur's hands simultaneously leave him and John feels his panic skyrocket again.

"No, Art, it's okay, I-" John shifts as his tears roll down his neck under the collar of his big t-shirt, one of Arthur's, the only thing he's wearing.

 _"Please?"_ John finally whispers, hoarse and cracking and desperate. 

The reading light Arthur has clipped to his headboard flicks on and John drops his gaze quickly, looking to the side, at the messy white stitching on Arthur's duvet. 

"The hell is goin' on?" Arthur whispers. 

"I don't wanna leave," John gets out pleadingly, "Art, please, whatever you want just _keep me."_

"... John," Arthur starts and it sounds like the beginning of every rejection John's been served. 

John sniffs quietly and worries the frayed, unraveling hem of the shirt he's wearing.

"What do you mean, ‘leave’?"

"The contract is up," John says weakly. 

"Your contract? Your sentence?" 

"Yeah, it's… Dutch and Hosea," John whispers, "They don’t know what to do with me."

"Why are you… Why are you doin' _this?_ How's it gon' help?"

John shifts uneasily, looks down at himself, a sudden rush of guilt crashing over him. 

He feels sick, stupid, perverted, manipulative.

John shifts his weight to get off but Arthur's grip on his waist stops him. 

"John, you gotta help me understand," Arthur says soothingly, squeezing John's waist lightly but John can feel the cheap lube through his shirt and his stomach turns.

"You… You could have me, but you wouldn't be-" John swallows thickly, "I don't think that you'd… That you'd be cruel with it."

"... Jesus, John," Arthur whispers after a moment.

"They'd keep me until I'm twenty-one," John says weakly, "I could try and leave but I don't… I don't know where to go."

"Why aren't you just… Stayin'?" 

"The reason Dutch let me come here, the program would pay as long as my behavior improved, until I was eighteen," John uses his sleeve to rub his raw eyes tiredly, "But my… Sentence, or whatever is until I'm twenty-one."

"So you're tryin' to tell me this whole time you been a cash grab?" Arthur asks, voice thick with disbelief.

"No?" John says, voice small in the face of Arthur's doubt, feeling his chest hitching again, "No, not… I'm not tryin'-"

John ducks his head as the tears start anew and his lungs ache with suppressed sobs.

A weak, whimpering noise escapes him and he twists his hands in the hem of his shirt, not sure where to go with Arthur holding him in place.

"Shh," Arthur's thumbs dig into the fronts of his hips and make small circles, "It's alright. I'm just tryin' to get the whole picture."

Arthur sighs quietly and shifts John back, tucking himself away and grimacing at the lube dripping down John's legs.

"This… This ain't comin' from you, right?" Arthur asks with an awkward gesture towards John's crotch.

"... Obvious?" John asks, barely above a whisper.

"Sorta?" Arthur says hesitantly, "It's… Off, y'know? Texture, smell, very… Plastic."

"Oh," John whispers, "Sorry."

"Don't-" Arthur pauses and sighs deeply, "If I had turned you down out the gate, where'd you have gone?"

John lowers his gaze to the hairs on Arthur's chest.

"... John," Arthur stresses. 

"Dunno," John whispers, "Bill, maybe."

Arthur makes a sharp noise of distaste.

"No," Arthur says firmly and John doesn't know how to respond.

"Hell, no," Arthur mutters, "You don't let people like Bill have that kinda power over you."

John twisted his thumbs in his shirt.

"Then who?" John asks quietly. 

"No one," Arthur insists.

"Arthur," John says weakly, "I know I get on your nerves but... Please, I don't wanna go."

"That's not… I mean no one, cause-" Arthur sighs and tilts his head back against the headboard of the bed, "Cause I'll help you."

“... Really?” John whispers after a moment of frantically studying the older man.

“You gotta explain, though,” Arthur murmurs, staring at the ceiling. 

The specks of blue tack leftover from the glow-in-the-dark stars John had stuck to his ceiling when they were younger.

The ones Arthur had yanked off and thrown away in a fit of embarrassment after Mary giggled upon noticing them. 

The ones John had noticed were gone a few weeks later, standing uncertainly in Arthur’s threshold, wrapped in a blanket, shaky from a nightmare. 

Had noticed were gone while Arthur was there to witness the way John’s face fell, a hurt and betrayal like Arthur’d never seen on the younger before. 

John had looked at him in confusion, then acceptance, backing away and closing the door between them.

“Dutch and Hosea,” John whispers, “Well, Dutch, really, he trusts you, right?” 

“Mm.”

“And if… If you wanted me to stick around, then he’d maybe let me stay?” 

Arthur lowers his chin to look at the younger. 

“Have you asked to stay?” Arthur moves his hand to John’s bare knee, frowning at a dark bruise there. 

“Can’t afford to hire someone else, can’t afford to keep me here otherwise,” John says weakly, “I know it’d… It’d cut into your salary but I don’t need much, I swear.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that now,” Arthur says gently and meets John’s eyes, “What’d you mean by ‘keep you’?”

“... You don’t sleep around, Arthur,” John says quietly, “And there’d be no reason for me to stay with you if we weren’t… Serious.”

“... Oh.”

“I know it ain’t ideal, and it’d just be until I find a job and I can pay rent here proper,” John says, words rushed and running together, “You can have whatever you want from me.”

“John,” Arthur sighs and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back again, “Why didn’t you just… Ask me, first?”

“I-I thought if you… If I showed you what I could do for you,” John says weakly, ducking his head, “I can do it better than that, I just… Got scared.”

Arthur can hear the reluctance to admit those last words and squeezes John’s knee lightly. 

"Go wash this shit off," Arthur mutters and sits up, poking John’s shiny inner thigh, making the younger’s breath hitch slightly, then leans over and opens his nightstand, grabbing a pair of flannel bottoms and shoving them into the younger’s hands. 

“You don’t wanna-? Uh…” John trails off uncertainly.

“Just… Go, wash that off.”

\--

John hesitates in the doorway, drawstring tied tight around his waist. 

“C’mon,” Arthur murmurs and gestures at the space between himself and the wall where he’s turned down the other side of the covers. 

John shuts the door behind himself and crawls onto the mattress, quickly moving against the wall into an as unobtrusive of a position as possible. 

Arthur watches him for a moment then turns the reading light off. 

John closes his eyes, somewhat calmed by Arthur agreeing to help him. 

He can tell Arthur doesn’t like it, and knows he’ll have to make it good for the older man. 

Whatever Arthur wants. 

\--

“C’mon,” Arthur says gently, tugging John into a sitting position, “Up, wanna get this over with ‘fore the rest of the gang is up.”

“What?” John asks scratchily, rubbing his eyes with his free hand before Arthur shoves a hoodie at him and he squints at the older man, bleary-eyed. 

“Tellin’ Dutch you ain’t leavin’,” Arthur explains and makes an impatient gesture. 

John slips on the hoodie and shoves up the too-big sleeves, knowing they’ll just slide down in a few minutes and he’ll have to do it again. 

He looks up at Arthur nervously and the impatience bleeds out of the older man. 

Arthur cups the crook of John’s neck and shoulder, squeezing lightly. 

“Just let me talk, alright?” Arthur smooths his thumb up and down John’s neck, “Gonna tell them we’re serious, but we’ve been tryin’ to keep it quiet. Now we gotta come clear with this whole contract mess.”

John lifts his hand to cover Arthur’s and squeezes tightly. 

\--

The door to Dutch’s office closes and John takes in a shaky breath, looking up at Arthur. 

It feels like the first breath since Arthur bullied him into the jacket and walked with him to Dutch’s building. 

He leans into Arthur, dropping his forehead to the older man's chest and closing his eyes tightly.

Arthur's arms wrap around him and he slings his arms around Arthur's waist in return, squeezing tightly. 

\--

Four days pass, uneventful.

John does his same chores, but in the evening he retires to Arthur's room, instead.

Some of his things have migrated to Arthur's bathroom, dresser, his blanket folded at the end of the older man's bed. 

John stares at himself in the mirror, stripped out of his work clothes, waiting for the water to heat up.

He knows he's Arthur's type, for the most part. 

On the thinner side, but he's not sure, really, how Arthur views him. 

Maybe if John did just the right thing with his hair, wore the right thing, and let Arthur take him from behind he could pass as Mary. 

John swallows harshly and shoves away from the sink counter, stepping into the still-cold spray.

\--

He sits naked on the bed after drying off, but starts to second guess the way he looks, bony and bruised and scarred and pale.

So he tucks himself under the covers and curls up, resting his face on Arthur's pillow.

The door opens and the first few steps are heavy then there's a pause, and the steps get lighter, slower. 

Arthur thinks he's asleep.

John's face is hidden but he still bites back the creeping smile.

He listens to the older man move around the room before Arthur goes into the bathroom and the shower cuts on. 

John turns over and scoots up to sit against the headboard, holding the covers up over himself with his arms by his sides, absently rubbing over a newly-healed cut on his arm, from a stray shoe-nail that'd caught him by surprise. 

The bathroom door is cracked, Arthur never latches it. 

John watches the older man's shadow as Arthur dries off and comes out into the bedroom, stopping when he sees John.

"Hey," Arthur says quietly, "Did I wake you up?"

"Wasn't sleepin'," John says softly. 

There's a nervousness in his gut, but those feelings are accompanied by a building warmth, as he looks at Arthur in the dim room. 

"Oh?" Arthur frowns slightly then moves the towel up to rub at his hair, "Thought you turned in early." 

"Was waitin' for you."

"Why?" Arthur smiles at him crookedly, brows furrowed, and hangs his towel over the bathroom door.

John swallows quietly and shifts, letting the covers pool on his thighs. 

Arthur's eyes go wide before averting sharply to the side. 

"John I know you- You got this idea of owin' me but that ain't-"

"What if I want to?" John asks then blinks in surprise at himself. 

Arthur stutters before going quiet, eyes darting around the side of the room. 

"Obviously, if you ain't interested…" John whispers, "But, I ain't opposed."

Arthur looks at him, serious, searching, and takes a few steps towards the bed, studying.

John watches him, oddly calm as the older man slowly sits on the mattress.

"What are you expectin' me to want?" Arthur asks quietly, eyes not straying from John's. 

John _wants_ Arthur to look though, and shifts, reclining on their pillows, arching his back slightly. 

"Dunno," John admits, "Whatever you want."

"... That," Arthur frowns slightly, "Is a dangerous thing to offer."

John loses some of his confidence, shrinking in on himself slightly. 

"I… I can blow you? Better than the other night, or you can… You can fuck me?"

Arthur's eyes narrow slightly then the older man sighs and rubs his face tiredly. 

"You ain't done this shit yet, have you?" Arthur mutters, "You dumbass."

"That- That ain't true!" John protests, sitting up, "I blew that guy who temped last summer 'couple times."

"Jesus Christ, John," Arthur sighs. 

"I can't get knocked up, neither, if that's what you're worried 'bout," John says, a little sharply. 

Arthur makes a strangled, frustrated sound and stands up, rubbing his temples. 

All the fight leaves John instantly at the look of annoyance on Arthur's face, fear filling all the voids. 

John stares at the older man for a few seconds then slowly shifts to his knees. 

"Art, I… I'm sorry," John says weakly, "If it- You can… You can do whatever, I don't mind, honest." 

Arthur sighs roughly but doesn't look at him. 

"If it's… Somethin' strange you can teach me, right?" John says and then stutters as he backpeddles, "Or just tell me what to look up and I'll… Learn."

"Lay down," Arthur says quietly. 

John shifts his legs to the side and lays back on the pillows. 

He watches Arthur take off his watch, waterproof but the older man hates sleeping with it on, empty the random nuts and bolts from today's jeans, then turn towards the bed.

"Scoot over," Arthur flicks a finger slowly at the wall. 

John quickly shuffles over. 

"Face the wall."

John's heartrate picks up as he turns his back to Arthur. 

The older man settles behind him and John doesn't realize he has a deathgrip on the sheets until Arthur's hand covers his. 

"You were too scared to even get wet the other night," Arthur mutters, "I'm not fuckin' you like that."

"I have the-"

"Unless you _need_ that," Arthur interrupts, "No."

"... What d'you mean?"

"I mean if for some reason you wanna fuck and I can't get you wet 'nough," Arthur mutters roughly. 

John feels a pulse of warmth and clenches lightly, hooking one ankle behind the other to squeeze his thighs closed. 

"... You-?"

"Mm, if- If you keep talkin'," John whispers, feeling his face heat. 

"John… I'm-" Arthur sighs quietly, "Too tired to do this right, so just- If you wanna let me just, take care of you…"

"But this ain't 'bout me," John says weakly."

"... Lemme get you off," Arthur whispers, slowly pulling John back against himself, "I want to." 

Arthur's fingers card through the hair between John's thighs and lift the younger's leg up slightly, propping it open with his own. 

His other hand worms under John's side and those fingers join the first ones. 

John closes his eyes, overwhelmed with the sensation as Arthur rubs and pinches his clit lightly.

"How you do this?" Arthur asks, voice low, "Get yourself off?" 

"Quick," John whispers, "Somewhere I can't be heard."

"Heard?" Arthur asks.

"Hard to be quiet."

Arthur groans weakly at the thought and John slowly moves to hold onto Arthur’s forearms. 

John’s chest hitches when Arthur’s fingers dip into his hole. 

One slides in. 

John closes his eyes and squeezes around the finger, biting hard into his lower lip. 

“You ain’t gotta be quiet, now,” Arthur murmurs and move his mouth to John’s neck, pressing his lips to the tender skin. 

“Arthur,” John says shakily. 

“Hm?”

“Can-Can I…?” John slides his hands down to cover the older man’s hesitantly guiding them into a different position, three fingers of one hand at the entrance to his hole, two fingers on the other framing his clit. 

“This what you do?” Arthur whispers against his skin. 

John nods lightly squeezing Arthur’s wrists before bringing his hands up and squeezing the covers. 

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long’s it take you?” Arthur asks lowly, moving his three fingers in, shallow, then pulling them back out. 

“Couple minutes,” John says shakily, rocking his hips lightly, chasing the touch. 

“Would you let me watch?” Arthur asks slowly. 

_“Yeah,”_ John says quickly then bites his tongue, face flushing darker. 

“Like that idea?” 

John makes a strangled noise as Arthur’s fingers move into him, deeper, spreading and twisting. 

“You like bein’ watched, Johnny?” 

“Yeah.”

“Where’re these places you touch yourself, hm?” 

“Th-The east barn,” John says weakly, whining quietly when Arthur’s fingertips drag over the soft spot inside him, before starting a steady rhythm, pressing against it, “The loft.”

“Oh?” Arthur asks breathily and starts to move his other hand’s fingers on John’s clit, “You can see the house from there.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“You do it when people are outside?” 

“Sometimes,” John says then whimpers as Arthur increases the speed of his fingers, his slick leaking out and making the sound obscene. 

“You ever do it in a riskier place?” Arthur asks, “Where people can see you, but not what you’re doin’?”

“G-Got off once, on accident,” John whispers, opening his eyes to look down at Arthur’s hands between his thighs. 

“On accident?”

“The reason I hated ridin’ those four-wheelers,” John whispers, “Seats are too wide, and I gotta use my legs to stay on… And they just… Shake.”

“Jesus,” Arthur mutters, “You that easy? That sensitive?”

John whines loudly when Arthur changes the way he’s rubbing his clit, instead of sliding along the sides, now rubbing quickly back and forth. 

He scrambles to grab Arthur’s forearms, gripping tightly and trying to close his legs, getting too close, too quick. 

“Uh-uh,” Arthur mutters and shifts John slightly on top of him, hooking his legs around the younger’s to keep them open, “Keep ‘em spread, John. Gotta let e’ryone see, right?”

John gasps and lets out a strangled sound, closing his eyes, realizing what Arthur’s doing. 

He imagines a dozen nameless faces, people he’s seen in passing and found attractive. 

All watching him, eager to get their turn. 

“Art, please,” John begs quietly, “Wanna come.”

“You’re gonna,” Arthur murmurs, “Gon’ come for me.”

John whimpers loudly and squirms, as Arthur’s fingers move deeper, rougher, faster, curling and pushing against him inside. 

“Arthur- Shit, I’m-”

Arthur continues steadily pounding his fingertips against that spot while rubbing John’s clit roughly. 

John begs between gasps and whines as he starts to come.

Arthur groans but doesn’t relent, keeping up the movements as John sobs, slick dripping and pooling on the bed. 

John struggles to breathe as Arthur’s fingers double down on his clit, drawing a second, and then third orgasm out of him. 

“Stop,” John begs weakly, shoving at Arthur’s hands as he whimpers. 

Arthur finally lets up, letting his hands fall wetly to John’s legs, gripping the younger’s inner thighs tightly. 

“Fuck,” Arthur mutters and grinds lightly up against John barely getting through three thrusts before stilling and making a choked groaning sound. 

“Did you just-?” John pants and shifts his hips to rock back against Arthur, feeling the older man’s cock twitching against him, “Oh Christ.”

Arthur makes a weak sound against his neck and moves his hands to John’s belly instead, holding the younger tight. 

“God, John, you’re so good,” Arthur murmurs, rubbing John’s stomach lightly, “So damn good.”

“I…” John opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, at the blue-tack, feeling himself rising and falling with Arthur’s breathing. 

“... Damn,” Arthur whispers after a moment and sits them both up, lifting John up and moving him to stand next to the bed as Arthur shoves at the pillows and reaches for the corners, stripping the bed as the older man stands. 

“Sorry,” John says quietly, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stands awkwardly, legs pressed together, a mix of fluids covering his thighs, Arthur’s come smeared up to his ass. 

“What?” Arthur frowns as he looks up from wrapping everything up with the fitted sheet, “Why?”

“You said you were tired, and now-” John shifts lowering his gaze, gesturing at the bed, “I didn’t mean to…”

“To what?” Arthur asks incredulously, “Come all over me n’ my bed? That’s what you’re sorry for?”

John shrugs weakly. 

“Jesus, John, I wanted you to,” Arthur says and moves the bundle of sheets into the hamper, “Who got you off?”

John lifts his gaze in surprise, looking at Arthur, the older man’s face just as flushed as his own, the wet spot growing on Arthur’s boxers. 

“John?” Arthur asks seriously, stepping closer, “Who got you off?”

“... You.”

“So who’s fault is it the sheets gotta be cleaned?”

“... Yours?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says quietly and steps closer still, studying John carefully, “Gladly, mine.”


End file.
